


Proximity

by dryswallow



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, camping adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryswallow/pseuds/dryswallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this is where Raikou wants to go, then he will gladly follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> for hassohappa @ tumblr
> 
> spoilers up to vol 11
> 
> if you're looking for a soundtrack, try Joanna Newsom's 'Autumn' (you can blame enflashings for that).

I

The bus drops them off near the edge of town, on a dirt road that acts as a border between two rice fields. Between them they have a suitcase, a backpack, and a newly-purchased tent in a carrying case slung over Raikou's shoulder; a week's worth of food, a few changes of clothes, and a pot that was far too expensive; a notebook with a vaguely sketched plan of where they are going and why. Unsure of which direction they should take from here, Gau swivels back and forth on the spot. He squints across the field at small white houses, at a mass of birds swarming narrow hydro lines. He is used to the city, its noise and its crowds, and in the absence of these things he finds the country to be not empty but open.

“We're going north.”

Gau realizes with a rush of embarrassment that he must have been wearing his uncertainty on his face.

“Right. Sorry, the map is in my bag.”

“It's not much farther,” Raikou assures him.

Gau pulls his suitcase along behind him, wheels rattling against the uneven surface of the road. Raikou has been quiet since they first boarded the bus that morning. He seems to have receded into himself, away from the exterior world and away from Gau as well, though Gau knows Raikou is not meaning to ignore him. In the same way, he knows he cannot understand what it must be like for Raikou to return to this place after all that has happened. He cannot understand but he can see that it is important for Raikou to be here, especially now.

They walk for almost twenty minutes before Raikou finally stops, gesturing for Gau to do the same.

There is no house number and no gate; all that remains is a small footbridge and a narrow path leading into the forest. The grass has grown well over their knees and is turning a pale shade of brown in the cold fall air. Further out Gau can see the bright red of spider lilies spread through the yard in bloody clusters. Everything about it is familiar, though Gau feels it should not be. He has only been here once, briefly, and his memories of that time centre not on the place itself but on the harsh sound of steel against steel and the way Raikou had looked down at him, face twisted with shock and framed by damp hair.

“Gau?” Raikou asks, looking back over his shoulder. He has stepped forward, off of the road and onto the bridge.

“I'm coming,” Gau says, hurrying forwards. He reaches out to take Raikou's arm, pretending to steady himself.

“Careful,” Raikou murmurs, slowing his pace.

Gau keeps his touch light and constant as they walk forward through the trees. Parts of his mind are still reeling with disorientation, but the scar that cuts across his chest keeps him sure of what took place here. And not only sure, but proud.

If this is where Raikou wants to go, then he will gladly follow.

 

II

For as long as he can remember, Raikou has slept alone. There were occasions when, as young children, he and Raimei had shared a bed on nights on which their mother was away and in her absence the world felt unsteady. In his adolescence he became accustomed to empty beds, sheets warmed by no body but his own.

It has taken some time for him to adjust to laying in bed with Gau near him in their small tent. Raikou knows that Gau is not naive. He has already begun to notice that Raikou does not rest as well as he says he does, and might soon uncover that there are many nights like this, when Raikou cannot sleep, or when he can but wakes intermittently. Though it breeds a soreness in his head and body, he prefers sleeplessness; the combined fear of what he sees when he dreams and the possibility of waking Gau in his panic is undoubtedly worse.

The night air is thin and tastes like frost when he holds it on his tongue. Raikou roams the edge of the area they have cleared, past piles of cut spider lilies which are beginning to decay. He wonders if his mother is here, not only watching but evaluating him. She would stand where she often had to watch while he and Raimei sparred in the courtyard, a few metres in front of where he is now, in a spot covered in rubble and weeds he has yet to pull.

“Why are you here?” she would ask, arms crossed. “And why have you brought him with you?”

Her face would be obscured with darkness, but he knows what it would look like. His features are just a variation of her own; he wears her eyes, her teeth, her skin. When he steps forward, he can feel the movements she trained into his muscles, practised again and again until they became reflexes.

She smiles, and the shape of her mouth is much kinder than he was expecting.

“Look at you,” she says. Her hands come out of the shadows, reaching towards him. He does not flinch as they touch the fading pink of his hair, trace the adult shape of his jawbone and neck.

“Why are you here?” she asks again.

Answers have come to a swell in his throat, too many to speak at once. He knows what she is really asking of him: is he only passing through, or is he returning?

“Raikou-san!”

Gau sounds panicked, barely leaving enough time to hear a response before he calls out again.

“Raikou-san! Raikou-san!”

“I'm here,” Raikou shouts, and begins to walk back to their tent. He can see Gau leaning out of the doorway, shining a flashlight across the yard.

“Calm down, Gau, I'm right here.”

When Gau turns to face Raikou the flashlight swings with him, filling Raikou's vision with white.

“Gau, the light.”

“Oh, sorry!” Gau lowers the flashlight sheepishly. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Raikou says. “I just needed some air.”

“I was worried,” Gau tells him. “I woke up and you weren't there. I tried to go back to sleep, but it seemed like so long and you still weren't back, so I...”

“I won't stray so far next time,” Raikou says. “But I'm fine, see?”

“I know,” Gau says, clearly dissatisfied.

“You needn't worry,” Raikou says. “Didn't I tell you? I'll always be-”

He stops. Where he thought there would be words, there are none; there is only a gaping hole in his mind that feels the same as many others he has already encountered in the past few weeks. Something very important to him used to live here. He cannot recall the sounds and how they should feel on his lips, as confidently as he would speak them, but he knows the sentiment. It is something he still holds tightly inside of himself.

“What were you going to say?” Gau asks, holding the tent open so there is room for Raikou to come inside.

“I can't remember,” Raikou answers.

“It sounded familiar,” Gau says.

“It probably was then.”

Raikou removes his boots and coat before returning to their makeshift bed, settling into the space that Gau has left for him.

The flashlight clicks off.

In the darkness they are close, though not as close as they could be. As soon Raikou can feel himself measuring the proximity of their bodies, he pushes the thought away. It leaves both heat and nausea where it lingers in his stomach, and he hates himself for it. As grateful as he is for Gau's presence here with him, there are boundaries that he must adhere to, that he cannot afford to break.

 

III

_Shimizu._

He admits to himself that he likes how it looks when written by his own hand. It isn't as neat as he would like it to be and there are places the marker has bled into the fabric, but it's satisfactory for a makeshift nameplate sewn onto a tent.

 _Shimizu Gau_ , he thinks before he can stop himself. The combination of names sends a hot flush to his cheeks, and he turns his attention quickly back to the soup he's been making, smiling to himself.

“I'm back, Gau.”

Raikou is walking towards him, arms full of firewood. When he catches sight of Gau's addition to their tent he stops, as if unsure of what his eyes are showing him.

“Did you do this?” Raikou asks, though the answer is obvious.

“Yes,” Gau stammers. “I just wanted, no, I thought it would be- nice, I...”

Raikou does not speak. Gau watches him as he shifts the weight of the firewood onto one arm to run his fingers over the fabric, tracing the kanji stroke by stroke.

“I'll take it down if it bothers you,” Gau says quickly.

“There's no need,” Raikou tells him. “It looks good.”

“Thank you,” Gau says, glancing up at the sign. “The stitching isn't the best, though. It would have been better if I had a larger needle, but–”

“I said it looks good, Gau.”

The praise returns heat to Gau's cheeks and sends a warm pleasure through his chest. The reaction is reassuring in its familiarity, and anything familiar is a welcome contrast to the unsteadiness that has defined their lives and minds for the past few weeks.

Gau beams. “Thank you, Raikou-san.”

“Is the soup ready?” Raikou asks, setting down his armful of firewood.

“Yes! And hopefully it turned out better than the last one,” Gau says. He cringes in memory of how their previous dinner had burned and the time it took him to scrub its remains from the bottom of their pot.

They eat in silence until they are almost finished their meal, when Raikou suddenly speaks again.

“I didn't mean to give the impression that I was angry with you. I was only surprised.”

“It's okay,” Gau tells him, but Raikou continues.

“You do a lot for me,” he says, lifting his head to look at Gau straight on. “I'm glad that you're here.”

“I'm glad you let me be here,” Gau says after a pause.

Raikou laughs quietly. “As if I could have dissuaded you.”

Something has changed, however slightly. Until today Raikou had seemed restless, unable to settle; now he moves with sureness and grace.

From here, Gau can map out a future of shared meals, shared beds, and shared pleasure. A life with Raikou. His desire for it is fierce and steady, persistent despite the memories he has lost. When they lie next to each other in the tent at night, Gau feels like he is home.

“Are you done?” Raikou asks, gesturing to Gau's empty bowl. “Here, I'll wash them.”

Gau lifts his bowl for Raikou to take, smiling as he does. His chest feels full to the point of overflowing. I love you, he wants to say.

He's getting ahead of himself.

“Thank you,” he says instead, letting the bowl leave his hands.


End file.
